


Take Me Back to the Start

by Opal_Butterfly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jaime Lannister Lives, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Season/Series AU, Post-Season/Series Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 23:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20957009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opal_Butterfly/pseuds/Opal_Butterfly
Summary: Was it worth it? YesWhat did it cost you? EverythingJon makes a decision for the good of his people that will forever haunt him but maybe it isn't so bad in the arms of the man he loves.





	Take Me Back to the Start

**Author's Note:**

> The Sansa/Jaime and Arya/Gendry are just hinted at but I didn't want to exclude them in the tags since they deserve love as well.

‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this’ was all Jon could think as he watched King’s Landing burn. Daenerys had promised she wouldn’t do anything if Cersei rang the bells but apparently it was all a lie. He had forsaken his family, left behind his lover and his most beloved companion to follow a woman who was hell bent on burning down her own kingdom.

Sansa had tried to warn them, hell Jaime fucking Lannister had tried to warn them but no one had listened; they were too blinded bu the Breaker of Chains, by the loving Myhessa, than to see the mad dragon lurking underneath. Maybe if Jon had paid attention to all the stories that were told about Dany and the way she had talked about having pride in the things she was good at he would have realized that she was teetering on the edge of madness. Maybe if Ser Jorah hadn’t died in Winterfell, maybe if Missandei hadn’t been killed right in front of her right after losing Rhaegal things would have been okay but that was relying too much on maybes.

Now as he watched the destruction going on around him he decided he was done. He was tired of war, tired of death and that damned Iron Throne. Too much had been taken from him because of that throne; his parents, the man he called father, Robb, Rickon, so many people who could have still been alive if it weren’t for that gods forsaken chair.

All he longed for now was the icy comfort of the North, the love of his remaining family, the softness of Ghost’s fur, and the shelter of Tormund’s arms. He should not have come South, Starks did not do well in the South. He belonged in the North and that is where he would return, starting now.

“Tell the men to retreat,” Jon told Davos who had not left his side since the start.

“Jon?”

“We should not have come, not so soon after our last battle. We will return North and there we will remain.”

“Aye, they’ll follow you wherever you lead them but they will most assuredly follow you home,” Davos nodded with approval. After a moment of hesitation he continued speaking, “What of the queen?”

“I will tell her we are leaving.”

“If she does not accept?” Davos questioned, nodding to the burning city around them.

“Let me deal with her. I will meet you all back at the camp,” Jon replied already making his way through a broken doorway.

He had only made it a few feet when he came across a pale horse, its rider slumped over its back. He would have paid the creature no mind if he hadn’t recognized the rider. “ARYA!” Fast he dared to go so as not to spook the horse, Jon approached and pulled his immobile sibling the horse’s back. He was aghast to see her bleeding profusely from a wound on her forehead. “What were you doing here?” Jon whispered to himself, not thinking that Arya was alive lett alone conscious.

“I had to finish my list,” Arya croaked out startling Jon.

“Oh Arya! No list is worth your life,” he told her pulling her into a hug, uncaring about the blood and soot that was now on him. Pulling away from her, he took in the dull, defeated look in her eyes. He could still see the defiance that was so completely part of Arya’s personality but it was now overshadowed by exhaustion, pain, and defeat. “Leave the city,” Jon told her decisively.

“Wha?! Jon?!”

“There’s a camp, the Northern camp, not too far from the gates. Davos is making his way there now with our troops. I want you to go there.”

“Jon! She has to be stopped,” Arya protested.

“I will take care of it,” Jon reassured her, helping her back onto her horse.

“But…”

“Go Arya, I’ll be there shortly.”

With one last look at Jon, Arya followed his orders and left for the Northern camp. Jon watched her progress until the smoke in the air obscured his view of her. Taking a deep breath he turned back to his self appointed mission. He knew that she would make her way to the throne room and while he did not know exactly where that was, he knew that he needed only to make it to the Red Keep and from there, mostly likely, the center of the building.

It took him a while to get there, his path hindered by burning rubble, half burnt corpses of the citizens of King’s Landing, and the number of times he stopped to save innocent women and children from the savagery of the Dothraki and, much to his dismay, some of his own men. By the time he had made it to the doorway of the half destroyed throne room, Jon was even more exhausted than had been previously. He stood there staring at the woman who had brought about all of this disaster for a throne that had only brought devastation to his family.

Jon watched as Daenerys reverently ran her fingers over the iron throne and couldn’t help but feel anger at her. “Was it worth it?” he asked her, startling Daenerys.

“Worth it?” she replied in confusion.

“Have you not seen the death and destruction outside? The innocents who you burned to get here?!”

Daeny looked slightly startled at Jon’s vehemence and anger toward her. “Jon, there was always the possibility of death,” she told him, speaking as though he was a small child who needed coddling. “All that matters now is that Targaryens are on the throne again, no Usurper, no bastard spawn of a Kingslayer and his sister. We will rule side by side Jon, the way our ancestors used to.”

As Daenerys was talking Jon began shaking his head in denial. “No…” he breathed interrupting her.

“What did you say?”

“I won’t rule with you, I won’t rule anyone, especially not here.”

“You are a Targeryen, your place is to rule here with me,” Daeny told him stepping closer to Jon.

“I’m not a Targeryen and I am not Stark, I don’t care what the records say. I am a Snow and I will always be one. And besides, my family is of the North and it is to them that I will return.”

“I am your family too!”

“You are my queen. I bent the knee so you would not kill me like you did the Tarlys and because we needed your help to defeat the Night King. But Daenerys, you have created too much death, too much destruction for me to follow you. You’ve instilled into the hearts of the people fear and that will never change.”

Daeny seemed shocked at what he was telling her and inquired as to what he meant.

“Look around you!” Jon yelled gesturing toward the gaping hole in the ceiling of the throne room. “We defeated the Night King to prevent more dead bodies and here you are burning down the entirety of King’s Landing! You told Tyrion you wouldn’t attack if Cersei rang the bells and you did anyway! Your loyal followers rape and kill any who come into their path!”

Daeny stood there in shock both at what Jon was saying and then also at the way he was saying it. She had never seen him so worked up before, the most she had seen from him was his unwavering love for his family and the laughter he had shared with the red haired Wilding male after the battle at Winterfell.

After taking a deep breath Jon continued speaking. “I cannot continue to follow you, at this point I am not even sure I trust you not to turn on everybody.”

“And if I charge you with treason?” Daenerys asked finally finding her voice.

“I still wouldn’t follow you. You killed one of your own advisors because he vaguely tried to imply that I should be king. Someone like that is not someone I can follow.”

At the mention of Lord Varys and his scheming, Daenerys’s eyes hardened and her spine stiffened. “You are the one I don’t trust Jon Snow,” she sneered. “With you living how do I know that you someone won’t try to kill me so that you can be king? No, I cannot let you go nor can I let you live.”

Out of the corner of his eyes Jon could see Drogon perch on the crumbling edge of the roof and knew that he wouldn’t be walking out of the room. He had known it was a possibility when he had told Davos he was going to confront the queen and tell her that he was going to be taking the Northern army home but he had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. He heard her give the command for Drogon to burn him and stood there staring at her waiting for the inevitable feeling of burning flesh but it did not come. Drogon stood there defying Daenerys much to both their amazement. It was in that moment that Jon made the decision to do the unthinkable. While Daeny stood there staring at Drogon in confusion, Jon quietly made his way closer to her, a dagger held hidden behind his back. Between one breath and the next, Jon slid the dagger between her ribs, Daenerys’s quiet gasp of shock becoming a sound that Jon would never forget. He knew in that moment his actions would haunt him for the rest of his life, it didn’t matter that he was doing this for the good of the people, he still killed his kin.

Jon held her as she lay dying, Drogon’s quiet keening the only sound. This was how Tyrion found him later, still cradling Daenerys’s cooling body. “I had to,” Jon whispered brokenly. “She would have continued burning and killing people.”

“Go Jon! Leave King’s Landing tonight,” Tyrion urged. “Don’t let them know you did this. Go back to Winterfell, go back to your family.”

“What about…?”

“I will take care of this, take your army and go.”

Jon nodded and reluctantly let go, laying Daeny gently on the ground. Easing away from her Jon started making his way out of the throne room pausing only briefly when he heard Drogon take flight. As quickly as he could, Jon made his way to the Northern camp, his mind numb with what he had just done. He knew he was drawing curious glances from his men but he could not stop, not until he was in the confines of his own tent. It wasn’t until he was safely in his tent did Jon allow himself to breathe, to think about what he had done. “She’s dead,” he whispered to himself, unaware of Davos and Arya standing at the entrance to his tent.

“Who? Jon? Who is dead?” Arya badgered, only noticing afterward Jon’s pale, drawn face.

It was Davos who answered her, not Jon who was falling into shock. “Daenerys.”

“Tyrion will explain it to her people but we are to go home, we’re not to stay,” Jon intoned.

“Aye, I’ll get the men prepared, take a moment and rest,” Davos told him patting him on the shoulder as he made his way out.

Arya hesitated a moment before coming forward and wrapping Jon in a hug. “I know it hurts,” she whispered, “but it had to be done.” Jon could only nod though he couldn’t verbally acknowledge what she had said.

For a beleaguered army, Jon was all too soon ushered out of his tent so that it could be broken down and before long they were on their way home. As they got further and further North Jon felt himself relaxing. They had not been stopped by anyone as they had left King’s Landing nor had they been attacked in the middle of the night for Jon’s crime. Only once did he take a moment to worry when he noticed Jaime Lannister marching back North with them but he had been reassured by the man himself that he wasn’t there to cause harm, he was just making his way back to the woman he had fallen in love with. Arya had snidely hinted at that woman being Sansa but Jon ignored it, he had not right to judge who Sansa might love especially considering who he was romantically entangled with.

It was a familiar scene that greeted Jon as he and his men road into Winterfell, except this time Tormund stood among the people and Arya road by his side, not Daenerys. Before anyone could even think about bowing to him, Jon flung himself off his horse and into the arms of his family. He heard Tormund laugh before feeling those strong arms wrap around him. For a brief moment he had his whole world surrounding him and then one by one they moved away until Tormund and Ghost were the only ones still with him. He was vaguely aware of Arya wrapped up in Gendry’s arms, a relationship that only slightly surprised him, and how tightly Sansa was holding onto Jaime Lannister’s hand, a look of surprised wonder at the fact that he was still there.

“You are home Little Crow,” Tormund murmured into Jon’s ear.

“Aye,” Jon breathed out relaxing fully into Tormund’s warmth. “And I shall never leave it again.”


End file.
